


The Great Dragon's Madness

by Pupmon1



Series: She Always Returns [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Dark Dragon World, Dark!Robin, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, M/M, More tags to be added, Multi, Reincarnation, at least a little bit, canon? what's that?, visions pretending to be vague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pupmon1/pseuds/Pupmon1
Summary: And in the midst of sand and war, two old souls find each other. If only they remembered what came before...





	1. Chapter 1

Tharja stood in the heat of the desert, not advancing with the other Plegian dark mages. There was no real reason to. She had no desire to fight the Ylisseans...why would she? Not to mention she could see the mages and pegasus riders tearing into advancing soldiers. Tharja had no desire to die like that. Honestly, she had no desire to die at all.

She turned her attention to the great skeleton that hung above the battlefield. Or more specifically the speck of a woman that stood on the tip of a rib. All of this...over her? This wasn’t worth it. What does it matter if she lives or dies? She’s just one person. A leader, yes. But she knows...no one in Plegia would care if their king was captured...it felt strange.

And yet, she can see the slaughter happening by the forts. The Ylisseans were always confusing...and her enemy. They will kill her, that is clear. She pulled out a Nosferatu tome and readied herself, moving forward as the enemy line approached. She didn’t want to fight, but she would defend herself.

Then she saw one of her fellow mages fall to the sword of the Ylissean prince. Oh yay… she had forgotten he was an ‘on battle’ commander along with his tactician. She readied her tome for if he came too close...and sure enough, he did. But he didn’t raise his weapon. He just calmly walked up to her.

“You don’t seem to eager to fight.”

Tharja blinked in confusion and lowered her tome. Was this prince actually...coming to talk to her? In the middle of a battle? “Uh….no, I’m not...seems your army is killing everyone...and I’d rather not die this day…”

“Don't you feel loyalty to your country?”

“Eh…” Tharja shrugged and looked away, sliding her tome back into her bag. It was a place to live, nothing more

“Your king?”

“Eh…I mean, long live the king and all...but eh…” Tharja held no love for the king...the madman puppet he was.

“Countrymen?”

Tharja glanced at the nearby discarded body of a Plegian archer...she had known him from the camp, had a few pleasant conversations with him even, but seeing his corpse laying there, his blood staining the sand, only made her shrug and repeat the sound a fourth time. “Eh…”

“Anything?”

Tharja’s shoulders fell as she sighed. This man is truly stupid. Maybe if she said it a fifth time he'd get it. She truly didn’t care...she felt no inherent loyalty to anything really. But something caught her attention that made the sound die in her throat.

Behind the man, was his tactician. Holding a fire tome and wielding a steel sword, she shouted orders at the men on her back. A dark aura flared around her as she seared an advancing wyvern rider...and it was beautiful. If anyone else could see it, they didn’t care clearly. But this tactician was different from the prince speaking to her. He was almost too bright to look at, and that damn sword was blinding even at the periphery of her vision...but beautiful was all Tharja could think as she watched the tactician conduct battle like a maestro.

Then she realized the Yllissean prince had spoken. “Will you fight for us? If you don’t want to fight for Plegia, fight for us.”

“And die for you?”

“No,” the prince answered quickly. “I mean-”

“Chrom! What are you doing!” Someone interrupted with a sharp voice. Tharja glanced behind the prince again and found the beautiful darkness storming up. “We’ve got a battle to win!”

Chrom nodded to his tactician. “I know, Robin. Well, mage? Will you join us?”

Tharja looked at the tactician, Robin, and nodded. “Yeah sure...doesn’t matter to me who’s giving orders...”

“I don’t like this…” Robin grumbled. “She could turn around and stab you in the back.”

Tharja couldn’t argue about that...she could. She might. Depends…

Chrom, on the other hand, was not convinced. “I trust her. I think it’s what Emmeryn would’ve done.”

Ah, he’s basing his actions on the woman who’s stuck at the top of an old pile of bones. That makes sense….clearly… Tharja looked up at the woman once more and couldn’t help but chuckle. She could practically see the cloud of death that hung around her. But hey, let’s see if this dark tactician can really save her.

* * *

Of course not. Tharja watched from just beyond the walls, it looked like someone had thrown a bundle of cloth from the high bones, yet it fell like a sack of potatoes. It was...interesting, almost graceful.

Okay... maybe she  _ shouldn’t  _ be thinking that, given the scream that was ripped from the young princess. Tharja heard Chrom cry out as the now-former exalt hit the stones below. But there was no remorse in her heart...nor in any of the Plegians that watched her fall. She did not understand. She could not understand.

It was pointless...the death meant nothing. That’s all Tharja could think as Robin ordered a retreat. She helped the Ylissean mages cover the retreat, and got pegasi moving since their riders seemed to be in a state of shock. But with shouting, and more fire than the riders were probably comfortable with, everyone got moving, and they fell back to the safety of the camp, and far from Gangrel’s gloating shouts. Smarmy bastard.

The moment they were back to the safe camp, the Ylisseans set about mourning the loss of their exalt. And Tharja avoided such things. It wasn’t her place to mourn with them, seeing as she cared about as much as she would for anyone else’s death. But she found she wasn’t the only one lingering at the edges of camp.

Behind a tent sat Robin. She seemed not to care about the sand she sat on, only focused on the maps and reports strewn about her. She moved from paper to paper, scanning each with quick scrutiny. It was fascinating to watch, her sword and tome still rested by her side. She reached out, grabbing each paper she needed without looking. She wrote notes in a book and on the maps themselves.

But she was alone...not with the other ylisseans. It was strange, but not enough to deter Tharja from watching her as she ducked behind part of the tent.

Then that deliciously dark aura flared around her, and she moved, putting a hand on her weapon and calling out. “Who's there?!”

Tharja slunk out, smiling. If this is how she dies this is it. She would welcome it. She still held up her hands showing she has none of her tomes.

Robin snarled a little and gripped her sword. “What do you want?”

Tharja stepped back, though the smile didn’t disappear. “Nothing, nothing. I’m just wandering around as the Naga worshipers mourn.” Tharja dropped her hands and tilted her head. “Why aren’t you with them?”

Robin snorted softly and turned back to her papers. “I have work to do.”

Tharja’s eye was drawn to the cloak Robin was wearing. In the gentle light of the setting sun...Tharja could tell what those symbols were. Down her sleeves...the six eyes of Grima. She had never seen a cloak like that… well, that wasn’t exactly true, the Grimleal wore whatever they wanted. But if you didn’t know to look for them, you’d just think they’re a pattern down the sleeves. Usually, the Grimleal are more obvious than that, or completely hidden.

“...it’s not just that, is it?” Tharja asked softly.

Robin folded her map over once she realized Tharja was standing over her shoulder, protecting notes that Tharja could barely read. “Mind your own business, plegian.”

Tharja was taken back by that statement. “I don’t think you get to say that...given you’re also one. I’m guessing that’s also why you’re not mourning with them?”

Robin glared at the mage. “Shut up. Go away. Mind your own business.”

Tharja stared at Robin for a few moments, before putting up her hands again and backing away. She could see the tactician was getting frustrated, that dark aura swirling around her. Tharja was not prepared to experiment with that aura, double now that Robin didn’t even seem aware of it.

She turned and left Robin to her own devices...only to dart behind a cart and watch her from that distance. She was fascinating through and through...the dark aura that caught her eye, her connection to the Grimleal, the fact she doesn’t even seem to realize either of these things, and that wasn’t even mentioning the fact she wielded an intellect Tharja had not seen outside of powerful mages. Tharja must know more about it all.

She just had to stay hidden from Robin’s senses until she knew more...and of course make sure the Ylisseans don’t think she’s trying to assassinate Robin, or steal any secrets.


	2. Chapter 2

Tharja lingered outside the strategy tent, leaning on one of the supporting bars to the side and listening to the conversations within. A messenger had delivered a report that Ferox was having issues with Risen, whatever those were, and bandits traipsing through their lands. Their khan wanted to break of men from the attack on Plegia to deal with these threats.

Robin objected. She needed those men where they were; they needed to push off the victory from the castle. Chrom didn’t want that called a victory...Robin argued that it gave them an advantage and couldn’t be called a loss just yet, despite the loss of Emmeryn, and with the Plegian line currently scattered, they could push deeper into Plegia and make a real foothold that isn’t mired in sand, and they needed to make it through the marsh first and foremost.

“Then what? Am I just supposed to leave my people to these threats?” the khan suddenly spoke up.

“No,” Robin replied firmly. “Chrom and I will take the Shepards, and only the Shepards, to deal with these things. Be careful as you cross the desert, and keep the rules of the sand. Only travel in the mornings and afternoons bec-.”

“We’re not foolish, Robin,” the Feroxi commander interrupted.

Tharja shuttered as that chilly energy pulsed through her...oh how quickly she had become sensitive to it. “I am aware of that, Basilio. But you should be able to explain it to the common soldiers who have never crossed a desert like this. Can you do that? Especially to the Ylisseans who will not be too pleased that their prince and tactician has run off and have little to no experience traveling through a harsh desert like this. Do you understand that Basilio?” There was nothing but silence at the end of her statement. “Good. Just make sure they understand it too. Follow the route, keep track of enemy movement, try to avoid confrontation until we return. We should be back before….”

Robin stopped and suddenly Tharja felt eyes on her. Of course, Robin would sense her eventually. She shouldn’t have lingered. Well...too late now. If she fled she knew Robin would chase, and she was busy.

“Before…?” Chrom tried to prompt her to continue.

“We should be back before you reach the next staging location, here. Flavia, I’m leaving it up to you to plan a safe route there, the army is in your hands. Chrom, grab Frederick and get the Shepards ready. I’ll section off supplies to get us back to Ferox.”

There was a shout of confirmation, and Tharja darted to the back of the tent, not wanting Chrom to see her. Footsteps shifted through the sand...away from her...with a lot of eagerness. Then heavy steps...and finally light and hurried. Tharja chuckled and leaned on a cart, waiting for Robin to come around the corner.

“Plegian! What are you doing?” Robin demanded as she stormed up to the mage.

“Listening,” Tharja answered honestly. “I enjoy listening to you plan and give orders.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed. “You better not be a spy...or I swear I’ll kill you, plegian.”

“I’m not. And stop calling me that, given you’re one too.”

“No, I am not!”

Tharja sighed and shook her head. She didn’t know whether or not Robin didn’t realize...or just was hiding it from the Ylisseans. “You have the same accent as I do, which would mean you’re either a Plegian of high birth or a mage who learned to pronounce things this way. And, while white hair is uncommon everywhere, it’s slightly more common in those of dark mage descent. And there are no Ylissean or Feroxi dark mages.”

Tharja approached and moved around Robin, looking at her carefully. “I’m not sure if you’re hiding it because of how they would react, or if you just don’t know...but you’re as Plegian as I am...so maybe you can not call me that. ‘Mage’, or ‘you’ would work much better. Or ‘Tharja’ since that’s my name.”

Robin grunted and crossed her arms. “Fine. But I’m keeping a close eye on you.”

Tharja grinned and leaned closer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Robin leaned away and grimaced. “...creepy mage...keep your distance.”

Tharja nodded and obediently stepped away. “Yes, my tactician. Shall we go ready supplies?”

“...no, I’ll go get them…”

“And I won’t be far behind.”

Robin frowned more, then shrugged and walked off. Tharja hesitated, letting the feeling of her dark aura slide past before following behind her. 

No, she didn’t mind following that delicious aura around all day and night. But this day she was allowed to follow openly, even sitting on a half empty cart and watching Robin order the quartermaster around. She made quick demands, and then willingly came to sit with Tharja, with, across the cart, same thing, and supervise.

Tharja simply smiled and focused on flipping through one of her tomes. She felt Robin watching her.

“What are you so happy about, mage?”

Tharja chuckled darkly and glanced over. “Oh, nothing, dear Robin. Watching you work puts me in a good mood.”

Tharja glanced up, seeing one of the Shepards, the villager um…..he has a name, but Tharja’d be damned if she could remember...anyway, he was running around helping people move things. He was a helpful kid, if not very useful in battle.

But Tharja had grown bored, now that Robin was doing nothing but supervising...so she decided to entertain herself. She flipped through her tome and placed a hand on a focusing rune, as this one didn’t have one on the cover. “ פאַלן סאָפלי טאָן נישט ברעכן.” She muttered a soft spell under her breath.

She couldn’t help but smile as the small boy tripped over his own feet. The crate he was carrying tumbled out of his grasp, undamaged as was the boy, beyond a few scratches. The villager picked himself up and grabbed the crate and hurried to catch up.

Once he was up on his feet, Tharja heard something she did not expect. A snicker from the woman sitting by her. Robin enjoyed seeing him trip? Tharja hesitated before letting the villager fetch another crate. She recast the spell, and watched him stumbled and fall again.

As he got up and looked for whatever he had tripped over, Robin snickered. She turned, hiding her smile and laugh from onlookers, and Tharja smiled. It was...nice to see her smiling, she hadn’t seen that before.

Robin shook her head and huffed softly, leaning back on a crate. “You shouldn’t do that,” she said plainly, still trying to suppress the smirk.

“It didn’t hurt anyone,” Tharja countered.

“I guess it didn’t.”

* * *

Two weeks later, half of the Shepards, Chrom and Robin included, were standing in a bandit base. A thief was running around, grabbing up chests and unlocking doors, Chrom was desperately trying to reach the woman the bandits had captured, and the rest of the Shepards were supporting them. Why only half? Because the other half got left behind to deal with Risen on the other half of the continent.

And as great as Robin’s intuition sometimes is, this left only herself and Tharja to properly deal with the archers firing at their melee fighters through windows. The battle was simple though, rough bandits didn’t stand a chance against trained soldiers, much less soldiers trained directly under the war prince, as Plegia called him. Though in Tharja’s experience at the camp he seemed quite the bumbler. Appearances are deceiving, it seems.

That didn’t stop the fact this was a battle. People were getting hurt and Lissa could only do so much with magic. She patched up cuts and healed broken ribs easily enough, arrows were a bit of an issue, but most missed anything to important and could just be pulled out.

Tharja stayed within assisting distance of Robin, commonly fighting side by side with her. She tried very hard not to be distracted by that wonderful aura, but she didn’t always succeed. Sometimes she had to throw a hurried fireball because she spent too long watching Robin cut into a bandit, and she let a different one get too close. She stumbled back, narrowly avoiding, not able to summon enough power to incinerate him...it didn’t matter. Robin was behind her, throwing a bolt of lightning at the man.

The air turned sour, and the man fell dead. And neither mage really cared. Robin spun right back around and ran back towards the others, Tharja quickly behind. They had gotten separated from the main group, which was dangerous, especially for someone like Tharja. She wore no armor...cooler in the dark hot labs of Plegia...and she doesn’t want to change. She’s a mage, she doesn’t need armor.

Then she heard something...someone moving. She saw Robin stop to shout orders...right in front of an archer’s slit. Body hitting body, a twang, and burning pain. Back hit a wall...crackling lightning...it was hard to hear through her heartbeat drumming it her head. Her vision was already blurring.

...it went through her shoulder...she’s aware of that much… It was just shock...she knew that...it didn’t make her head stop swimming. ...no...no it isn’t just shock. Tharja realized that as her legs started to weaken….of course they wouldn’t fight fair….not pushed to the back like this….

“...damn them….” Tharja mumbled distantly

Darkness crept into her vision as she felt herself start to slide to the ground. The last thing she remembered someone caught her collapsing body and shouting.

* * *

_ “Long after your life has ended, a shadow closes in upon... then, emerges a pair of... and …. is there, too...?” _

_ “So what’s that mean?” _

_ “... in the distant future? But, that… _

_ “A future reunion... then that might mean ....” _

_ “Will we really...? I'd be overjoyed if that were the case... You truly are… ...” _

_ “...... you'll recognize me, right?” _

_ “Yes, I could never mistake you for another.” _

* * *

Tharja woke with a gasp. She was laying in a tent, on a mat...she could feel grass attempting to push through and tickle her back. They were still in Ferox….

She carefully tried to sit up, pain surging down her arm, but she didn’t let it stop her. As she looked around, she realized she was in a temporary medical tent. Lissa was sleeping in the corner...Tharja could feel the moon above.

The mage placed a hand on her shoulder, clean bandages...that’s good. She took a deep breath and spoke firmly. “נאַמען די ווייטיק ביז שלאָפן קומט.”

The pain faded, but she didn’t dare move her shoulder. Numb or not, she didn’t want to irritate that injury. She carefully stood and crept away, careful not to wake Lissa. Her body felt weak and unsteady, but she still made her way outside. She carefully sat down on a crate and looked up at the moon.

Tharja respected an old Plegian custom, now most common only with dark mages outside the Grimleal. Which is practically no one...but hey, Tharja did it. Before the Grimleal took over...Plegians saw the moon as at least the protector. There’s a lot that could be done under the cooling light of the moon.

“איך דאַנקען די לבנה פֿאַר מיין שוץ.” Tharja offered a soft prayer to the protective moon then chuckled weakly. She survived because she was resistant to poison...but it felt right to do this. She closed her eyes and hung her head...she felt tired...but she didn’t want to sleep yet.

“Tharja?”

Tharja slowly opened her eyes and glanced over. Of course, she’d be awake...she rarely slept for long periods of time. “...hello Robin…”

“What are you doing up?” the tactician demanded.

“Heh….can’t sleep all day….”

“You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Tharja chuckled in amusement and looked away. “...didn’t think you cared….”

“Of course I care! Trust you? Still working on that. But you’re part of this army! And you-...” Robin stopped and looked away.

Tharja sighed and gestured at the crate. “Sit...you’ve been on your feet all day...take the night to rest.”

There was a moment of silence before Tharja felt Robin sit at her back. She reached out and put a ginger hand on the bandages. “....you didn’t have to do that…I could take it…”

Tharja chuckled softly and closed her eyes. She enjoyed that tingly darkness that came with Robin’s touch...but also just...being this close to Robin made her feel so warm.

“The arrow tip was poisoned...if you had been hit by it, it most likely would’ve been slowed by your puffy cloak and whatever is beneath it...it would’ve stuck in you...who knows what would’ve happened if it hadn’t passed through my shoulder like it did….”

“You couldn’t have known the arrow was poisoned when you shoved me.”

Tharja couldn’t help but smile. “Of course...you’re brilliant...you’re more important than I am...you’re the tactician...and you’re dear to me…”

“You’ve known me a day.”

“...and yet it’s felt so much longer.”

There was another moment of silence, and Tharja was nervous she had said something that would upset Robin. But Robin didn’t leave.

“You mentioned I’m Plegian…”

“You say that like you didn’t know.”

“...I don’t…”

Tharja stopped and looked back at Robin. Her eyes were drawn to the markings that spanned her sleeves. “You don’t-....you don’t know? You d-didn’t defect…or….?”

Robin shrugged. “I...don’t know how I got to Ylisse...maybe I did...I don’t...know…” Her hand fell from Tharja’s shoulder.

The mage was silent...before the obvious hit her. “Amnesia…”

“Yep….”

“You don’t know anything about Plegia.”

“Nope…..”

Tharja thought for a moment before smiling. “Why don’t I tell you what you’ve forgotten. If anything, it might help you realize how to deal with Plegians, and...maybe you’ll remember.”

Robin smiled a little and nodded. “Yeah...okay….how about you start with what I caught you doing.”

Tharja chuckled weakly, then leaned back. She gently rested on Robin’s shoulder an closed her eyes. “That’s fair…”

And so she started to explain how the moon, and the night itself, are important to Plegians. How there was safety in the cool night, less likely to get heatstroke and die as one would in the baking sun...and how some Plegians still deify the moon.

“Do you?” Robin interrupted.

Tharja stopped and looked back at her tactician. Then she shrugged. “If it is one...it’s not nearly as active as the other…”

“Other?”

Tharja stopped and looked down at her lap. “We’ll get to that later…”

“It seems important, it might help us underst-”

Tharja gasped and grabbed her shoulder, pretending it was hurting. It was still numb, but half lying was better than talking about...him. She weakly stood and chuckled. “We’ll continue this later…I need to rest…”

Robin hopped to her feet quickly and put a hand on her good shoulder. “Do you think you can march tomorrow? We have to get back to the front line.”

Tharja nodded. “Of course I can. I’ll be right behind you.”

Robin nodded and pulled away, waving before walking back to her tent. Tharja watched before inching back into the medical tent… if Lissa woke up and she wasn’t there, she didn’t want to know the panic she’d whip up.

* * *

True to her word, Tharja was marching with the other Shepards the next day, Robin picking the quickest path back to where Flavia was supposed to stop the line. Tharja was being followed by Lissa, who reminded her every half hour to tell her if things started to hurt or if her shoulder became hard to move. The wound had healed, but the poison might remain, and Lissa needed to know if it was acting up.

It was. Tharja’s shoulder was stiff, but she’ll deal with it. She’s experienced worse. She hurried up, catching up to Robin and Chrom, who were talking about plans to deal with Gangrel, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Chrom stopped and looked back at her. “What?”

Tharja sighed and shook her head. “You can’t depose Gangrel….” she said plainly. “It’s not that simple. The priests still back him and this war…they won’t let the war stop so easily.”

“He’s just a king, we kill him and his heir will take over. That’s how Emmeryn became Exalt.”

“Plegia doesn’t work that way,” Robin suddenly interrupted. “The power of the crown lies in the priesthood that stands behind it. Even if we kill him, they’re just going to raise another king that will continue.”

Tharja nodded. She walked up to Chrom and flicked that damn brand. “ _ This _ is the only reason your halidom does have any succession crises. We avoid them with the priesthood backing the throne. No matter what, they’re always there.”

Chrom stepped away from the flick and rubbed his shoulder. Robin stopped walking completely and put a hand on her chin. She tapped a finger against her cheek and tapped her foot. Tharja recognized the motion...she was planning, thinking.

“What if...we proved Plegia can’t win this?” Robin proposed.

“...what?”

Robin chuckled and nodded. “What if we prove that Plegia cannot beat the Ferox/Ylisse alliance? The priesthood would lose faith in Gangrel and the war and-”

“They’d practically deliver his head to you,” Tharja interrupted.

Robin nodded. “Exactly.”

Chrom frowned and crossed his arms. “I don’t like it…”

Robin sighed and started walking again as she realized they were holding back the line. “Chrom, we don’t have a choice...it’s probably the best way to do this without trying to annex Plegia.”

“Don’t do that,” Tharja cut in. “No one will be happy...you’ll just have revolts on your hands. Plegians won’t follow a Ylissean.”

“You’re following one,” Chrom pointed out, which only gained a scowl from the mage. He recoiled and chuckled nervously. “Of your own will, I mean….”

“Yeah...whatever…” Tharja slowed, letting Chrom and Robin take a proper lead. She didn’t feel like talking to Chrom any longer. The prince annoyed her...being around him put her in a bad mood, and even Robin’s aura couldn’t help.

She placed her hand in her bag and mumbled a spell under her breath. “ פילן די ביס פון אַ כאָרספליי”

She watched Chrom suddenly jump and bat at his exposed arm. And beside him, Robin chuckled as he looked for the fly that bit him. Tharja quickly pulled her hand out of her bag before Chrom could see.

But she felt eyes on her back, and she knew someone else saw. She glanced back and found one of the Shepard mages staring at her with narrow eyes. Yep, that lady saw...but she did no harm, and the mage said nothing. But it looks like she’s got someone watching her, as the Ylisseans weren’t already suspicious of her.


End file.
